Gloria
by singin2jesus
Summary: An underdog band faces many changes with a new season... how will they be affected?
1. Summer Beginnings

Ahh, junior year. No longer was I a lowly underclassman. I was almost 16 and about to get my license, and it was finally time to start checking out colleges and deciding where I wanted to spend yet another four years of my life. The year was already looking great, and it was only July. All my classes were great (with the exception on chemistry) and I was looking forward to everything about the year. Most of all, I was eagerly awaiting marching season.  
  
At the end of my sophomore year, our band director, Mr. Gunter, announced that our field show would be "Gloria" by John Rutter. As soon as he announced that I began anticipating the new season, because I was very familiar with the Gloria. My dad's church choir had performed it at Christmas a few years prior, and I could not stop listening to it. Something about the music impressed my intermediate musicianship as well as captured my attention and fed my craving for good classical music. When Mr. Gunter handed out the early revision of the opener at the end of the year, I had a blast playing it on my beat-up yet faithful, school-owned bass clarinet.  
  
With the distribution of this new music, Mr. Gunter also announced some staffing changes that would be taking place the next year. The biggest change was that we would be acquiring the director from a rival band. Mr. Wilson would come alongside Mr. Gunter and the two of them would teach us equally. None of us really knew Mr. Wilson, but we knew of him and we'd seen the success of our rival's program with him as their director. So we accepted this somewhat happily.  
  
That summer was when I made the decision to switch from the safety of bass clarinet to the vulnerability of trombone. I knew that the Gloria called for heavy brass, which our band didn't have at that point (most of the good trombone players had just graduated). So at the first rehearsal for new marchers, which I went to to help out, I asked Mr. Gunter what he would like me to play. He told me baritone, so that summer I devoted the little time I spent at home to learning to play the baritone. It was not an easy task. I discovered that brass was a lot different than woodwinds—a LOT different. For two months I struggled to learn baritone, and finally I was able to get decent enough sounds out to not humiliate myself at practice.  
  
However, by the time I was actually able to get a decent sound out, I conveniently had to get my wisdom teeth out, which made me unable to play for a couple weeks. I was not excited about this because I knew I'd lose it if I took too much time off, since I'd just learned the instrument. But what can you do when your face is all swollen and you can't even smile?  
  
And as much as I was looking forward to our new season, there was still the fact of last season. We had been in the big band division and had gotten completely devastated all season. There was a severe attitude of discouragement in the air for those of us who would be returning next year. We knew what we had to follow, we just didn't know how to follow it. Even though we'd moved back to our small band division, it would be hard to build back up after such a disappointing season. This feeling escalated as we dove headfirst into our new marching season. 


	2. Enter Wilson

School started at the end of August, unusually early for a private school. Marching season was, of course, already in full swing. Everything seemed to be going smoothly—that is, until our first Tuesday night practice when we formally met Mr. Wilson as one of our staff members.  
  
Mr. Wilson had a very different way of handling rehearsals. He tended to focus a lot more on fundamentals than Mr. Gunter had. His philosophy was that if you couldn't play a simple scale, for example, you couldn't play a song in that key. He also had very high expectations for our program, which some people failed to meet. Take me, for example. I'd only been playing brass for a month, but he didn't know that. He expected me to be able to do lip slurs and many other things I hadn't even thought about. All I wanted to do was get the notes out.  
  
On our first night with Mr. Wilson, he talked for an hour at the beginning of rehearsal about how we could become a better band. "You guys have a reputation," he told us. "You know what it is. It's up to you to make that reputation what you want."  
  
Then he had Mike, one of the drummers, stand up. "I'm going to push you," he informed us as we sat silently on the risers. He pushed Mike backward. "I may push you beyond your comfort zone, but as soon as you get comfortable again, I'm going to push you again." He pushed Mike again. "At some point you're going to push back." Mike pushed Mr. Wilson. "But I'm going to push you again. And I'm just going to keep pushing and pushing until you achieve your full potential." He also had our drum major, Caitlyn, write several quotes on the whiteboard. They said things like, "The greater the difficulty the greater the glory," and "If I had eight hours to chop down a tree, I'd spend the first six sharpening the axe." My friends and I sat in almost stunned silence as he went on and on.  
  
Finally at 7:00 we picked up our instruments and began to work on very basic principles like breathing and posture. Everything he said for the next hour was very useful and legitimate. But we were all frustrated when we didn't play a single note of our field show until 8:00, half an hour before rehearsal ended. We also received a mini speech at the end of rehearsal about having our music memorized. Mr. Wilson didn't hesitate to inform us of the position of his former school. "Live Oak has all their music memorized," he told us. "They have already done a public performance of their opener. You guys are way behind." That was enough to get me seething. I disliked the fact that he was comparing us to Live Oak, and I also disliked the fact that Mr. Gunter was joining in and taking Mr. Wilson's side. I think Mr. Gunter sensed that we were offended, because he said at the very end of rehearsal as we stood at attention, "If you have any doubts that Mr. Wilson and I are on the same page, get over it and get over it quick." I left practice very unhappy that night.  
  
The next day in 5th period, Mr. Gunter opened it up for discussion as he liked to do if he felt something needed to be discussed. To my surprise and dismay, just about everyone said that they liked Mr. Wilson's style of instruction. We were all agreed on one thing, however: we didn't like being compared to Live Oak.  
  
"You have to understand," Mr. Gunter reprimanded us gently, "that the Live Oak band has been Mr. Wilson's life since he was fourteen years old. He marched in it, worked with it when he went to college, and then became their director. It's the program he's familiar with. It's hard for him to leave after so many years and come work for us, a very different program."  
  
We all accepted that, but the fact remained that I felt like he was trying to turn us into the Live Oak marching band. Or even if he wasn't, he was trying to change the way our program was run. I did not like that at all. I'd been very devoted to marching band for half of my high school life, and I'd gotten very used to the way it worked, and now Mr. Wilson was just coming in, taking over, and changing everything we were used to. This was definitely not ok. 


	3. The Turning Point

The whole Wilson ordeal aside, I had my own struggles on the field. I was still having trouble holding up the baritone long enough to march basics, let alone play a show. By the time we finished a half-hour basics block, my back would be stiff and my arms would be shaking. I was also not quite able to play the entire show even when sitting in the band room. It was very discouraging. My friends Laura and Kei, who had also switched from woodwinds to brass that season, tried hard to encourage me and tell me I was doing a great job for having missed band camp and the week after that in the summer. But no matter what they said, I still felt like I wasn't contributing. And the problem was, I knew what I had to fix but didn't have time to fix it at home.  
  
For a little while there weren't too many conflicts with Mr. Wilson. Night practices went fairly well. We were still learning new drill and closing holes in our formations, and it was generally very productive. In the beginning of September our instructors decided that in order to build up our endurance for the last 30 seconds of the show, we would run at the beginning of rehearsal. We had to run in step in a block formation, with Caitlyn running in front of us and tapping on the gock block. We began with doing just one lap each night, with the promise that that would increase throughout the season. For those of us who hated running, this was not such good news. But our instructors told us that it would ultimately help us, so no one complained.  
  
We also began doing a chant at the end of every practice. Caitlyn and Ben had learned it at drum major camp and decided it would benefit our band. It went like this.  
  
How are your heels? "Together!" Stomachs? "In!" Chest? "Out!" Shoulders? "Back!" Elbows? "Frozen!" Chins? "Up!" Eyes? "With pride!"  
  
New problems continually arose, however. The next to surface among my group of super-devoted friends was the lack of seniority we now had in our band. My freshman year seniority had still existed and everyone was happy with it. Now the freshmen were treated equally, if not better than, the seniors. Sophomores were being made section leader over juniors and seniors who were just as qualified. This bothered a few people, but unfortunately not enough to make a difference. It was also irritating that some of the more irresponsible section leaders, mine for example, constantly showed up late to practice or didn't show up at all. This was not a quality of a good section leader, but Mr. Gunter was set in his ways and determined not to change things in the middle of the season.  
  
Things just continued along until the second weekend in September, when we held our weekend band camp at Fort Ord, an old army base in Monterey (I wonder what our instructors were trying to imply when they planned to have it at an army base). We left on a Friday after school and got there in time for some sectionals before dinner. Our section leader, Matt, had a water polo tournament, so Laura took over until he arrived. After dinner we went out on the field and practiced until after 10. I personally was not energized, but apparently everyone else was, because when Mr. Wilson asked if we could do better, everyone else would yell, "Yes! Let's do it again!" By the time we were done my back was so sore that I had to lay down on the track while everyone else played a very random game that Caitlyn, Ben (our assistant drum major) and the section leaders had come up with. Around 11 we grabbed our stuff and hiked to the sports facility where we would be sleeping. The girls had the handball courts, so we designated one the quiet room and one the talking room. I tossed my stuff in a far corner of the quiet room and was asleep in minutes.  
  
The next morning we started practice around 8:45. We first did some basics and then worked on the ballad a bit. At lunch we were given drill for the closer, so Laura and I wrote it all in our dot books so we'd be prepared. As it turns out, the instructors gave us a rather long break during rehearsal just for that purpose, so we got a little time to hang out and rest. The rest of the day was spent learning the drill. The low brass and the bass drums were far backfield in one set, and we were getting bored, so the Richard, tuba section leader and Tom, the 4th bass drum player, started messing around a little. And then there was Paul, who returned late from lunch break because he'd been playing soccer with some junior high girls. Gotta love Paul.  
  
At dinner they opened up the pool for us, so we were able to go swimming for a while. That was nice because it was brutally hot. After dinner we worked on some of the bigger chunks of the show. The Monterey fog rolled in around 8:00, and it was fun to march the ballad in the fog because we had some backfield scatter sets that looked really cool. It reminded me of Star Wars. At the very end of practice we did one run of the show with the Doctor (the metronome) and one without. After the second run I was really excited. We had done a great job for our first ever full runthrough. Then after our instructors talked to us about the weekend, there was a reward for the team that won Friday night's game. They got to pie Mr. Gunter and Mr. Wilson. After much running around and general craziness, we loaded the buses and the trailer and went home.  
  
Overall, despite the daytime heat, the nighttime fog, and constant green dust from the field that got all over everything, it was one awesome weekend. I was very interested to see if we could keep up the enthusiasm in our normal rehearsals. By the time we left, I was also feeling a lot better about the situation with Mr. Wilson. I felt like he really had a lot to do with our work ethic that weekend, and I liked what went on. I hoped that it could continue once we were back home. In general, I think that weekend was the turning point for me. 


	4. September Ends

And rehearsals continued as the day of our first competition drew nearer. We finished learning our drill, not without some more Richard-and-Tom craziness that resulted from a lot of boredom. There was everything from making up chants on the commands to a homemade headlight of Richard's to Chinese fire drills. I should write a book: Adventures in Low Brass.  
  
Another evening in mid-September we spent the whole night inside working on music. We broke up into sectionals (brass and woodwinds). Mr. Gunter took the brass into the jr. high band room and Mr. Wilson stayed with the woodwinds in the high school band room. We were playing our little trombone feature in the closer too sluggish, so Mr. Gunter told us a story. "I was walking across the street with my wife," he said, "and the 'walk, don't walk' sign bleeped, you know, for the blind people. Well, one of us, I won't tell you which one, said it reminded us of gnomes jumping up and down in the sign." We all cracked up, and Mr. Gunter said, "I want you to play this section like that." We laughed some more, but the next time we played it it was lighter.  
  
Overall, our sectional was productive and fun, except for me and our two first trumpets, Ben and Sandra, all having splitting headaches. We were all giving about half the normal amount of air. When we went back with the woodwinds, Mr. Wilson led the rest of rehearsal and started to get all over me for not giving him enough sound, until I explained that I was sick.  
  
I got over it quickly though—quickly enough that later that week, I was able to outplay the other two second trombones, Alex and Josh, in band class. Mr. Gunter was going around the room testing all the brass on a section of the ballad, and he got to us. Both the boys could play it, but they were barely audible.  
  
"Come on, you guys," Mr. Gunter scolded them. "I need more sound out of both of you." Then he pointed at me and counted off, and I played. It was just slightly sharp, but it was loud. "You could give me a little bit more too," he said, "but that's more like it."  
  
We each played individually again, and then Mr. Gunter said, "Ok, time for a Battle of the Sexes." Everyone started laughing. I played first, maybe a little louder than the first time. Then the guys played, and their combined sound wasn't even up to my solo sound. Mr. Gunter turned to the class. "Well, who was it?"  
  
"Kelly," they all responded. "No question."  
  
Then of course he tested the seconds against the firsts, and of course we lost. But it was ok, because I'd proved to myself and other people that I could actually play the thing. It was a milestone for me.  
  
We plodded on through heat, cold, rain, sunshine... you get the idea. At one Saturday practice toward the end of September it was brutally hot, and of course I was feeling sick that day. We spent the first two hours inside working on the singing in the ballad. I was almost in tears because I was having so much trouble with my throat. Then when we did get outside to march, I had to sit out a lot of it because I was dizzy, or march without my baritone because I couldn't breathe with my back brace on. And just to make everything worse, Mr. Wilson walked out on rehearsal. Apparently he and Mr. Gunter had made an agreement that as long as we cared and were there, Mr. Wilson would be there. Well, after lunch there were 29 wind players there out of 40, and about 10 of those were late. I guess that showed Mr. Wilson that people didn't care, so he left. I thought it was a little unfair because obviously, those of us who were there were the ones that cared. By leaving, I felt that he was hindering those of us who did want to work instead of punishing the people who didn't care. However, a lot of people got extremely worked up when Mr. Gunter brought us in to the 50 and said, "Mr. Wilson is going home to mow his lawn. He doesn't feel that you guys want to work, and he will be back when you decide you do want to work." He was there voluntarily. He didn't get paid for working with the marching band. The only reason he was there was because he enjoyed it. When a quarter of such a small band doesn't show up, there's not much that can be accomplished with all the holes. So while I was a little annoyed that he had just left, I could understand why. Although we did manage to put music to our closer that day, so we did get something done.  
  
Rehearsals got better and better as October got nearer and nearer. Everyone is always pysched for October because that's when competitions start. September is the boring month because it's not new anymore, but we haven't started competing yet. Anyway, we continued to work hard. We were able to march and play almost all of our show, with the exception of the last half of the closer. I was getting stronger, and holding up the baritone was getting easier. The singing in the ballad was getting louder (it was almost audible). We added visuals here and there to make our halts more interesting. We did our first ever full run of the show, marching and playing. It was killer, but in a good way. We'd worked hard and had earned the right to be tired.  
  
The analogy of Vegas was also born around that time. It was, ironically, the same section as the Gnome analogy referred to—the main theme of the closer. Mr. Wilson came up with Vegas. He wanted us to imagine flashing lights and a very showy style. But then we began imagining Mr. Wilson on stage in a pink dress, which was not a pretty picture.  
  
On the very last night of September we stayed in and worked on memorizing our music. Mr. Wilson (who apparently had seen that we wanted to work and had come back) took those of us who had our music memorized, and everyone else stayed with Mr. Gunter and then came over to us when they had it memorized. I had all mine memorized, so I went with Mr. Wilson when we first split up. It was actually a fun rehearsal. I discovered that I was a better player than I'd thought. The very last thing we did was form a rehearsal arc outside by the flagpoles and play through our show marking time. We made some musical progress, but the real challenge lay in applying that progress on the field. 


	5. First Show and Competition

Our first performance was the first weekend in October at halftime of a football game. We had rehearsal in the baseball stadium in the morning and just worked on some chunks. We weren't going to perform our whole show—just the opener and the ballad.  
  
Before our final two runthroughs of rehearsal, Mr. Gunter called me and Leah over. "You guys will be wearing body mics for the singing," he told us, and sent us to Mr. Satterstrom, the sound guy, to get hooked up.  
  
Well, all I can say is those body mics were almost more trouble than they were worth—and this was after only one time wearing them. Mr. Satterstrom clipped the mic to my T-shirt, which was fine, and then stuck the control box and the power pack in the pocket of my jeans, which wasn't so fine. They wouldn't stay in. I got through our first runthrough all right, but two sets into the second runthrough the box and the pack fell out of my pocket. I stopped playing, grabbed them, and managed to get them back in during a halt, but then as soon as I stepped off they fell out again. I couldn't get them back in, so I wrapped the cord around my hand and just kept going with the box and the pack swinging with every step and hitting the side of my baritone. "This is not working," I said to myself.  
  
For the actual performance it was better. Instead of being in my pocket, the box and pack were clipped to a belt loop on the back of my jeans. The problem there was that the weight pulled down the back of my jeans, but I couldn't pull my T-shirt down because the bottom of it was tucked up under my back brace. And then I had all this extra cord hanging down, so we managed to stuff that between my back and my brace. It felt really weird, but it worked. Our performance itself went well for our first one. We only did the first two movements, so it didn't seem complete, but the crowd liked it. In fact, it was the first time I'd heard a football crowd cheer for the band's halftime show. That was exciting.  
  
A week later was our first competition, in Modesto. I was really pumped for it. I remembered my first competition as a freshman, when I had been totally nervous. But two years later I was an upperclassman, and I felt like we were actually ready.  
  
We had practice on Saturday morning, but not for very long because we had a three-hour bus ride to Modesto. At the end of our short rehearsal, Mr. Gunter and Mr. Wilson called us up to the bleachers and let us sit in the shade while they talked a little bit about what to expect at our first competition. It was all review until Mr. Gunter said, "And we know this is going to be very unpopular with some of you, but no cheering in the stands. That means that when they announce, 'And the sweepstakes go to Valley Christian!' we're just going to clap politely." Some people protested, but Mr. Wilson picked up. "We have a great program here, but we don't want to rub it in other people's faces. We want to be tasteful." After a couple more announcements, we loaded the trailer and climbed onto the buses. Our performance time was scheduled for around 4:00, so we arrived at 2 and had just enough time to get everything done.  
  
During our warm-ups, I looked around at some of the freshmen. They looked nervous, some more than others. I reassured a couple of them that once we got going, it was just routine. Your body just knows what to do.  
  
We marched over to the band entrance, got in our opening formation, and marched on as the announcer said, "Now entering the field, from San Jose, California, the Valley Christian Marching Band and Color Guard!" He went on to name off all our visual and music staff and the name and repertoire of our show.  
  
Once we were set and Caitlyn was on the podium, she called us to dress center. My arms were just beginning to get tired when I heard the announcer: "Are the judges ready?" And then seconds later: "Drum major Caitlyn Christie, is your band ready?"  
  
"Ready, front!" Horns were down. Caitlyn turned around and saluted, the crowd cheered, and the announcer said, "Valley Christian, you may take the field in competition."  
  
I watched Caitlyn's hands as they set the tempo, and listened back as Drew hit six beats in time on the snare. Then my horn was up, I was stepping off, I was playing my first impactful note. The intensity was strong, now if only we could keep it through the rest of the show.  
  
The opener came off pretty well, but I got tired a little after the woodwind feature, during a mini-fugue section. I kept having to take notes out to breathe. But we made it through without any major errors or tears, which was a big step.  
  
The ballad was equally strong. The singing sounded okay to me, and I hoped everyone else could hear it. The brass quintet was good, and the horn entrance actually happened. At the very end of the ballad the entire horn line suddenly cut off after a big impact, and the only sound heard on the field was Caitlyn's voice. She had come down off the podium during the impact and was now standing at the tip of our cross set with her arms raised, singing a solo. It was beautiful.  
  
As soon as she cut off, lowered her arms, and the crowd started cheering again, she turned to us. I watched as her hands beat two measures of four, the cue for the drum break and then the closer. In the last four counts my horn came up to my mouth and I was playing. Seconds later Caitlyn was back on the podium and I was back in the security of her tempo.  
  
We marched and played along, dressing and covering carefully. By the last backstride set I was out of breath and ready to stop. We halted and our horns came down with Caitlyn's hands. We'd done all we were doing for the week. My chest rose and fell heavily as Caitlyn turned and saluted. Then she called, "Mark time hut!" and led us off the field.  
  
"Bring it in!" Mr. Gunter called as soon as we were out of hearing range of the stadium. This was also a cue for us to take off hats and wipe our sweat-soaked foreheads and hair. We crowded around our instructors to hear what they had to say.  
  
"All right," Mr. Gunter began. "I have some good news and bad news. The good news is that that was a very solid run for our second one. The bad news is that they couldn't hear it." We all looked around at each other, confused, until he elaborated. "The sound system didn't come on, so we had no mics. But don't let that frustrate you," he said quickly. "You guys had no control over that. I'm not going to worry about it. If it happens again, I'm going to worry about it. So good job, get some dinner, and we'll go back to the stadium together."  
  
We got out of uniform, the Boosters fed us dinner, and we got into double file and marched back to the stadium. We filed in to an empty section of backfield bleachers, where all the bands sit after they perform. We sat through the big bands and occasionally got up to make trips to the snack shack and the bathroom. I made a face at Ryan the freshman trombone when he was coming back from getting food, and he held up a handful of candy and announced to me, "Everything was half off, so I got twice as much!"  
  
Then it was time for awards. It was always so frustrating to have to listen to all the single-A awards and be in anticipation of our own division. "And now the awards for class two-A!" Finally. "In sixth place, with a score of 60.66, six-zero-point-six-six... Los Altos!... In fifth place... In fourth place... In third place... In second place... Hoover!"  
  
I glanced at Laura and anyone else sitting around me with my eyes wide. It was between us and Bullard, a big rival. "Remember, no cheering," Ben called to us. Jeez.  
  
"And now for the caption awards." We received captions for visual and general effect. Bullard got music and auxiliary, and Los Banos, who had placed fourth, won percussion. "So now we have a chance," I said to no one in particular. "I bet it'll be us in first and Bullard with sweeps. Although we got GE, so we have a good chance..."  
  
My voice trailed off as I heard, "And in first place, with a score of 67.42, six-seven-point-four-two... Bullard!"  
  
As one, our entire band gasped. A couple people squealed. Ben tried to quiet us down, but then we heard, "And the sweepstakes award for class A/AA goes to, with a score of 69.25, six-nine-point-two-five... Valley Christian!"  
  
Well, forget Mr. Gunter's rule about no cheering. We didn't go crazy like some bands do, but we did cheer briefly and a couple people jumped up before they remembered the rule. We watched proudly as Caitlyn, Jenny, and Krysta accepted our trophies.  
  
After the big band awards, we double-filed back to the trailer. Mr. Gunter called us in again, and with the trophies in hand, he said, "Okay, now you can cheer." And we all went crazy. He covered some logistics, like checking out if you were leaving with your parents, and then we got back on the buses and headed home, everyone with a smile on his or her face.  
  
As someone who'd been around the program for a couple years, I knew what was going to happen. All the other AA bands would be shooting to beat us now. That meant we had to work even harder. I just hoped everyone else saw it the same way. 


	6. Rehearsals and Homecoming

The next week we had Monday and Tuesday off school for an ACSI convention. But did we have off band? Of course not. A few people were gone playing at ACSI honor band, Mr. Gunter along with them. And the rest of us were up on the field in the heat, from 10 in the morning until 1 in the afternoon, working hard.  
  
Yes, we did work hard. I'd expected that people would slack off after Saturday's victory in Modesto. But much to my happiness, we kept right on pushing. On Monday we started by running two laps, then learning a new basics exercise. We worked on cleaning up the second half of the closer, which we hadn't performed on Saturday. We also managed to have some fun while working. Richard's cell phone went off during an on-field break, and he answered it (why, I have no idea... he's a tuba player). When Todd, our drill designer, discovered that he was on the phone, he came up close to Richard and shouted, "AND BAND, RESET!" right into the phone. Everyone laughed.  
  
We returned the next day for more. I was convinced that our instructors had a delusion that we couldn't get enough and just lived to come back on days we had off school. That day we relearned practically the whole ballad. Todd must have decided he didn't like our scatter sets, because he threw in all kinds of random visuals all over the place. In my opinion, they broke the flow of the ballad, but hey, Todd knows best, right?  
  
That Thursday, once school and regular rehearsals were back in session, we got a lecture from Mr. Wilson about people missing the Monday and Tuesday rehearsals. "It's very frustrating," he said, "when there are 30 people out there working hard and trying to make it great, and 10 other people don't even bother to show up." I was right there with him. It was frustrating. But that night we did our best ever full run of the entire show, and that made my day.  
  
Homecoming was Saturday. I always enjoyed homecoming because it was just so much fun... there were so many things going on. This particular homecoming, we would be playing pep band with the junior highers, and also performing our field show at halftime. I was also singing the national anthem with vocal ensemble.  
  
Our instructors, in a rare moment of gentleness, decided to give us a little break. We didn't have to be at school until 11:30 on Saturday, as opposed to our usual 9:00. When I arrived, everyone kept asking me why I wasn't getting into uniform. I must have said, "I'm singing the national anthem with ensemble," about fifty times.  
  
At noon we rehearsed with the junior highers for pep band. It was so exciting! There were about 80 wind and percussion players crammed into our band room. We ran through all our songs, and then Caitlyn and I ran over to the choir room to warm up our voices and run through the national anthem with ensemble. We all headed up to the stadium in time to see the coronation. One of our senior snare drummers, Drew, was crowned homecoming king, which was exciting. The 12 of us in ensemble stood around waiting for a while, and finally we were told it was time to sing. It went well. After we sang I grabbed my uniform bag from the rack at the end of the track, found a good spot on the chain-link fence, and proceeded to strip out of my jeans and T-shirt (I was wearing whites underneath) and get into uniform. The color guard girls, who happened to be walking by, laughed as they saw me frantically stripping.  
  
Once I was safely in uniform, I headed up to pep band and ate lunch (bad Kelly, eating in uniform!). At the second quarter I left yet again to go get body miked, and the rest of the band followed shortly for hats and gloves. We warmed up facing away from the field. We were standing in our rehearsal arc when we were informed that our team was going to kick a field goal... right over us. "Don't move," we were told. "Just stay still. We'll tell you if you need to move." It was hard to stand perfectly still and know that you might get knocked out by a football at any second. Ben whispered something to Jason, one of our instructors, who nodded. Ben set down his trumpet and turned around. I figured it was some assistant drum major duty thing, until the football came flying into the middle of the arc. Ben leaped after it and almost caught it. Everyone, even Mr. Gunter and Mr. Wilson, laughed.  
  
Shortly thereafter, we performed our show in its entirety. It was decent for not having had practice beforehand. Then we headed back up into the stands for some more pep band.  
  
When the game was over (we won 34-0), we got a little break until 4:00, when we started rehearsal... in uniform (or in Drew's case, in tuxedo). It was a decent rehearsal. We worked on pieces of everything. Our instructors did get a little frustrated, though. Mr. Wilson got on the mic and yelled at us about "pizza and a coke". This was what he used to say we were slowing down. Every time we slowed down, it was because we were stopping to buy pizza and a coke.  
  
At the end we did a runthrough that wasn't all that great, but then again, we were all exhausted. And I was getting a little frustrated because people were making me feel stupid for the smallest mistakes I made. It was very degrading to have sophomores telling you, "You messed this up," especially when they couldn't do half their drill right.  
  
I went home that afternoon thoroughly drained, and not too excited about coming back for more in just a few days. 


	7. The Band Goes South

However badly I was feeling after post-Homecoming rehearsal, I got over it fast. The next weekend was our annual L.A. trip, which I always looked forward to. We got our rooming assignments, and me and Laura were staying with Brittany and Shelby, two of our junior staff who'd graduated the year before.  
  
The Tuesday of that week we started with music indoors, so we didn't have to run. Once outside, we worked on parts of the ballad and the closer. At the very end of rehearsal we did an arc at the top of the bleachers so we could hear our show played with reverb. It was pretty cool.  
  
Thursday we ran three laps at the beginning of rehearsal, and then began with a basics block. From there we moved on to working chunks of our show. Our final run was dirty, but totally exciting and fun. Everyone was pumped for our trip.  
  
The next morning I walked into the band room and tossed my duffel bag and my guitar case along the back wall. Mr. Gunter had given me permission to bring my guitar and play worship songs in the lobby. I also had a fleece blanket with me, since I knew how cold the buses got. After sitting impatiently through four classes, I headed happily to the band room at the beginning of lunch to grab my stuff and load the buses. Josh helped me haul my guitar out, and I slid it under the bus and tossed my duffel bug on top. Then we boarded the buses and sat around chatting until we finally pulled out.  
  
The ride down was fairly uneventful. The only major thing was that there was a huge fire in the Rancho Cucamonga hills. Yep, you got it—it was the beginning of the huge Southern California fires. We were staying in Ontario, which was near Rancho Cucamonga. We first noticed it when we saw a huge pillar of smoke rising in the otherwise clear sky. No one really thought anything of it, and we drove on.  
  
When we got to our hotel, we were allowed to go across the street to the Ontario Mall, a huge round mall that had about every store you could possibly imagine. It was fun walking around and looking at all the shops, especially the one with glow-in-the-dark stuff.  
  
Around 9:00 me, Laura, and Josh headed back, grabbed our stuff from underneath the buses, and went inside. We got our keys from Mrs. Wiens, took our stuff up to our rooms, and then headed back downstairs with my guitar. We sat on the couches in the lobby, and I got out my guitar and started to play worship songs. Laura flipped through songs in my binder till she found ones she liked. Soon Leah, Christina, Tom, Daniel, and Caitlyn had joined our little impromptu worship. At one point Mrs. Christie, Caitlyn's mom, came up to me and told me that the lady at the front desk was really glad to hear us worshipping because she hadn't gone to church that week, so having worship in the lobby was like going to church for her. It was cool to hear that. Eventually though, Mrs. Wiens told us to go to bed and we dispersed our separate ways.  
  
The next morning Laura and I rolled out of bed to take showers (Brittany and Shelby had said they didn't need to). They went around un-taping doors while we showered and headed down to breakfast. After breakfast we all hung out in the lobby for a while. We were standing by the front door when I happened to glance outside. At first I thought it was overcast, then it looked like a dust storm. But then I realized it was smoke. There were bits of ash blowing around in the air, and the entire sky was a dark gray. Even the sun looked red through the haze. It was disgusting.  
  
After what seemed like ages, Mr. Gunter called us outside. When the door opened, we were hit by the putrid smell of ash and smoke. We gathered around Mr. Gunter, and some people turned the other way so as not to get ash in their eyes. I put my sunglasses on even though I didn't need them.  
  
"Obviously we have a problem," Mr. Gunter began. "We're not really sure what to do. Ontario High School, where we were originally supposed to practice, is in the middle of the smoke. That's out of the question, so we called Valley View to find out if they have an extra field for us. They do, and they're out of the smoke, so we're going to go there for a couple hours. Then we're going to come back and get you guys inside to rest and eat, then go back for the show."  
  
We got on the buses and drove about half an hour to Valley View High School. When it looked like we were out of the smoke, I turned around and looked back. The entire horizon looked like it was covered in huge gray storm clouds.  
  
At Valley View we climbed off the buses and got our hands stamped. Then we grabbed our cases from the trailer and headed out to the football field. After doing a few minutes of basics, we were called in.  
  
"The officials have told us that they want to preserve the chalk lines as much as possible before the show," Mr. Wilson told us. "So we're going to practice from the end zone to the 50. It's going to be challenging on your part, but you can overcome."  
  
Rehearsal began then, with a lot of water breaks because it was so hot. It was probably the one time our instructors ever told us to walk back to our sets instead of running. Our overall rehearsal time was cut in half, but no one minded because of the heat.  
  
When we were done, we got back on the buses and headed back into the smoke inferno where our hotel was. We all ran from the buses to the hotel, holding our breath so as to breath as little smoke as possible. Once inside, we all gasped in the nice cool air conditioning, then got in line for lunch.  
  
After lunch Laura and I headed back up to our room to shower off all the smoke, ash, and sweat. While she was in the shower Sandra came to visit us, and we messed around with my guitar till it was my turn for the shower.  
  
After a couple hours of rest, relaxation, and breathing good air, we re- boarded the buses and went back to Valley View. There we got into uniform, I got wired up, and we had our warm-up block and arc. We did most of our warm-ups without jackets and hats. By the time we'd finished the block and before we'd even begun to play, I was dying of thirst. I looked around for someone who might have water. This was in vain, though. We were all in uniform. Then I saw Brandyn and Shelby disappear, and a few minutes later they reappeared with packages of water bottles. They began passing them out among sections, and as I gulped down half a bottle I was mentally praising God. However, it was gone within 10 minutes, sucked up by the brutal L.A. heat. But there was more water.  
  
At the end of our warm-up, Mr. Wilson called us in. "You'll always remember this show," he said, with a playful smile on his face. "Marching your hearts out while L.A. is burning down around you." We all snickered, and he continued. "It's a distraction, just like the heat, but if you discipline your minds you won't be affected by it like a lot of other bands here will."  
  
With that we marched over and did our show. The overall show was very good, except for one brass circle in the ballad being five yards off. We managed to recover, though. As we marched off I felt the sweat running down my face and knew it was well deserved.  
  
We didn't get to go back for awards, since we would be on our way to Disneyland as soon as we knew the results. Instead we got out of uniform and loaded the trailer and the buses. Caitlyn, Jenny, and Krysta stayed in the stadium for awards. After forever they climbed onto our bus, Caitlyn in the front. It went silent for a moment before Caitlyn squealed, "We got sweepstakes!"  
  
Everyone cheered, and she went on to say that we had won every caption award except percussion, which we'd lost by a tenth of a point. After more cheering, Caitlyn and the guard girls made their way to the back of the bus and we were rolling out of the parking lot and on our way to Disneyland. Jenny and Krysta couldn't stop talking about their "Best Auxiliary" award, which Valley Christian hadn't won in years.  
  
At Disneyland we hopped off the buses and got tickets from Mrs. Wiens. I formed a group with Laura, Josh, Leah, Christina, and Shevata. By the time we got into the park it was about 8:30 at night, so we didn't have much time. We managed to go on Indiana Jones, Star Tours, and Pirates of the Caribbean. Then at 10:00 we went to see Fantasmic, the light show on the lake. We had fun watching it until they stopped it because of the wind. At 11:00 we met up with all the other Valley kids to go on Jungle Cruise, a Valley band trip tradition. If you can imagine 80 band kids at 11:00 at night on a water ride with all the corny jokes and fake animals and stuff, it was a blast. At midnight we met right inside the entrance, did a head count, and left for the hotel. On the way back Laura, Caitlyn, Jenny, Sarah, and I sang hymns.  
  
In the morning we got up, showered, breakfasted, and went to church at Saddleback. Saddleback is about the hugest church you can imagine. It's so big that people have to sit in several different locations outside the main worship hall and watch on TV screens. We'd been there once before, and I loved it. The speaker that morning was really good too.  
  
We'd barely boarded the buses and pulled out of the parking lot at Saddleback when we pulled over to the side of the road and stopped. No one noticed until after we'd been sitting for about 20 minutes. "Why are we stopped?" asked Jamie, a very blonde clarinet player. Richard, one of our instructors, turned around and yelled back, "The other bus hit a little kid."  
  
Everyone laughed, knowing he was kidding. But Jamie, being the blonde that she was, gasped, "Are you serious?" She got her answer when she realized that we were all laughing hysterically.  
  
We didn't get underway for another 20 minutes or so, so to amuse ourselves we told brainteasers and did other mind puzzles. At one point we had about half the bus trying to figure out a brainteaser.  
  
Once we finally got going again, we had a fun ride back. We watched "Toy Story 2" and "Raiders of the Lost Ark", and just had fun chatting with each other. For about the last half hour of the ride, Sarah decided to come sit on Laura and me, and we were all in a really hyper mood. Ben was sitting in front of us, so he decided to play a game called the "Laura Laura Laura WHACK" game. It basically involved him chanting Laura's name over and over until he decided to smack one of us on the forehead. Finally when Caitlyn asked what in the world he was doing and he decided to demonstrate, he tried to whack my forehead but missed and hit me in the eye. After much laughter and him going, "Oh my gosh, are you okay??? I'm sorry!!!" we decided to give up the game.  
  
Ahh, band trips. Fire, lack of sleep, Disneyland, general band craziness—and we even managed to win the competition. Yes, I'd say it was a successful trip. And now we had our three biggest shows to look forward to. 


	8. A Week Of Pumpkin Carving and Rest

The next week was spent listening to judges' tapes and figuring out what areas we could improve upon. Mr. Wilson printed out a list and posted it in several places around the band room, along with the quotes Caitlyn had written on the board the first night of practice.  
  
Another thing we did that week was start working on symphonic band music. We were all bored of playing three short movements over and over, and Mr. Gunter wanted to start working on Christmas music. It was nice to go back to my bassoon one lovely day a week.  
  
As the end of October drew to a close, the weather began to change. It got a lot colder on practice nights, and we had to start coming with heavy jackets and gloves. Usually it would be cold for a while and then we'd all warm up from marching, but one night that week I marched the entire rehearsal in my letterman jacket and Ben's gloves, and it was COLD. We had some problems trying not to go flat.  
  
That same night was our annual section pumpkin-carving contest. Since Matt didn't want to do a pumpkin (or didn't have time, they're one and the same), Laura and I teamed up with Sarah and Kei, our mellophone friends, to create the Valve Mid-Low Brass Section. We met an hour before rehearsal and began working on our masterpieces. One was a Sarah Classic: a penguin (she always said we looked like penguins in our uniforms). The pumpkin itself was the penguin, with the stomach shaved off but not completely cut out, and a beak sticking out. On its head we placed a shako, complete with plume. The other was a very deformed-looking elf. It was supposed to be a gnome, from the infamous brass sectional with Mr. Gunter, but it didn't quite turn out right.  
  
After rehearsal was the judging. Mr. Gunter, Mr. Wilson, Jason, and Caitlyn were the judges. First they went around looking at all the pumpkins. The pit had done several pumpkins, one for every two pit members. They had stenciled and carved out each individual member with their instrument, and they could identify each one. The battery simply drew a face on a piece of paper and pinned it to a pumpkin. (Not too surprising—they're drummers, after all.) The trumpets were the most creative, however. They carved a normal jack-o-lantern face in their pumpkin. Then they had Ben recline on the stairs outside the band room, pull his head inside his sweatshirt, and hold his trumpet where the mouth would be. The rest of the trumpets placed the jack-o-lantern inside Ben's hood so it looked like it was his head and he was playing the trumpet. It was lit inside with a glow stick. He sat really still and everyone was amused. The judges ruled that the pit won, with Valve Mid-Low Brass second, trumpets third, and battery last. Overall, it was another successful pumpkin carving contest, and the most creative ever.  
  
That weekend we had a nice little break from competing because of the Sadie's. I wasn't going to Sadie's because the guy I'd asked had already been asked (darn those popular people). So I went to a UCLA vs. Stanford football game with my family. I've always loved seeing the UCLA band because they're one of the only bands who still does classic marching band stuff. They don't dance and they don't do weird things. They just get out there, do their thing and do it well, and get off. That's really all we needed to do too. 


	9. In the Rain

Praise God for the rain. It began that week and rained all rehearsal. By the time we got to our last run, my hands were pretty much frozen to my horn. But our run was awesome.  
  
Other non-band accomplishments that week included getting my license and a very old but nonetheless working car. Of course, the only thing that meant to me at the moment was, "Ooh, now I can drive to band!" Gotta love life during marching season.  
  
Saturday was our biggest show (but not last) before championships, the Emerald Regime Invitational. Hosted by our main rivals (Live Oak, where Mr. Wilson was from), it was held in downtown San Jose, close for us. It was the most popular show for both bands and spectators because it was a huge college stadium. It was also the only venue in which bands were allowed to sit frontfield to watch other bands, because the stands were so high.  
  
In the morning we arrived at school a little earlier than normal. The sky was gray with rainclouds that teased us with on-and-off sprinkles all morning as we worked. After a slightly early lunch we loaded, something we were good at by now, and left for San Jose City College. The show was normally held at Spartan Stadium, but someone way up in administration didn't want the field getting messed up with the rain and the 20 or so bands that would be performing that night, so it was moved.  
  
For some reason we only had one bus that week, so we also got the use of a couple school vans. Laura, Sandra, and I climbed into Mrs. Wiens' van with a bunch of other people. Mike called Shelby, who was his girlfriend, and asked her to bring him Starbucks'. That inspired us, and soon our whole van was on the phone with family and friends who were going to the show, asking them to bring us coffee and hot chocolate. Josh's mom offered to get Laura and me some, and we decided to share.  
  
It had stopped sprinking when we got off the bus and vans, so we quickly got into uniform, plumes included, and got instruments. Laura and I quickly drank our small hot chocolate. All I can say is, it's a good thing we got a small. We had almost no time.  
  
After a quick basics block, we "arked it up" and did music warm-ups. Then we marched over to the stadium, passing Los Gatos on the way. A couple of my friends from church were in the Los Gatos band, so I made a mental note to say hi later.  
  
Minutes later we got out and did our show. It was a good show, clean in general. We all felt good marching off. As we were marching the long distance back to our trailer, our drumline got bored and decided to play the 6/8 cadence—LOUD. We all cracked up silently, but discovered that it was a mistake when Mr. Gunter turned around with a furious look on his face and yelled, "SHUT IT OFF!" Once it was quiet and back to a simple tap, we heard a car alarm wailing. My tuba friends and I, who were in the front of the double file, snickered.  
  
When we finally reached our trailer, we gathered around Mr. Gunter and Mr. Wilson. Everyone was anticipating some sort of explosion in the direction of the drumline. But all Mr. Gunter said was, "Drumline, Mr. Wilson will deal with you," and proceeded to discuss our show.  
  
It was so cold I don't really remember what Mr. Gunter said. After our talk we changed out of uniform and the Boosters fed us dinner, Chinese food in Styrofoam take-home boxes. We took our food back into the stadium to eat. I saw my friend Katie from Wilcox sitting with her band, and when Los Gatos marched on we got up to cheer for Hoi, Cassie, and Shana.  
  
Once Laura and I were done eating, we took a trip across the stadium to the bathroom. On our way back to the back stands it began to sprinkle. Then it began to rain. Pretty soon there was a downpour that reminded me of the Logan show my freshman year. But nonetheless, bands continued to come on and off the field. It was like they were immune to the rain and the cold.  
  
As for those of us up in the stands, we were wet. Very wet. Neither Laura nor I had an umbrella, so we were pretty miserable until Daniel came and stood behind us with his own umbrella. Hooray for chivalrous guys. But by then it was too late. We were soaked.  
  
We watched band after band after band until Valley people started trickling out. Nic wrote down my cell phone number so he could call me to find out about awards, since I planned on staying. But when almost our entire band was gone, Laura and I were about to get up and leave too. But then Mr. Gunter showed up with a huge umbrella and offered to take us to find our parents. We were just leaving when Laura's mom came running up to us. "I was just about to come find you!" she said. "Kelly, your parents left a long time ago, so I offered to take you home."  
  
I accepted of course, since I was wet and cold. On the way out John, our keyboard player, asked if he could borrow my cell phone to call his mom. Being the nice, unable-to-say-no person that I am, I let him. She didn't answer. "If she calls back, can you tell her where I am?" he asked. I promised to, and I left with Laura and her family.  
  
We stopped at Starbucks' on the way to my house. As we were turning onto my street, my cell phone rang. "Nic's cell" flashed across the screen. I answered it. "Hey Nic, I left before awards, but the scores are gonna be on the website tomorrow." I gave him the address of the website and hung up.  
  
By the time I got home every single layer of clothing I was wearing—whites, jeans, T-shirt, sweatshirt, socks—was soaked through. My feet were wrinkled from water going through my sneakers. I was freezing. I walked in and greeted my parents and some friends that had gone to the show, told them I was getting in the shower, and proceeded upstairs to peel off my wet clothes. Jeans are really heavy when they're wet.  
  
I got in the shower, grateful to be under some warm water for a change. As I was drying off, I heard my cell phone ring downstairs, and then my mom answered it. I ignored it and kept drying. When I came out of the bathroom, I went onto the landing.  
  
"Did you let a guy named John use your phone?" my mom asked.  
  
"Yeah," I replied, shaking some water out of my ear. "Why?"  
  
"His mom just called," she said. "You guys won sweepstakes!"  
  
I blinked and then realized what she'd said. "Are you serious?" I asked in disbelief. "We won E.R.I.??"  
  
"You got captions for visual, percussion, and general effect," my mom said. I squealed in excitement and took my phone from my mom. I found Nic's number and hit the dial button. It rang once and he picked up.  
  
"Hey, it's Kelly," I said.  
  
"Hey Kelly, what's up?"  
  
"Someone just called us, and we got sweepstakes!"  
  
Nic had already heard this from someone, so we talked about it for a couple minutes. When we hung up, I dialed Laura. She had just walked in the door and was still in all her wet clothes. "Hello?"  
  
"I just found out how we did," I informed her.  
  
"And..." she prompted me.  
  
"And, we got sweepstakes!"  
  
She screamed. "We got sweepstakes?!"  
  
I went on to tell her about our captions and our score, which was 87.0. After we hung up, I headed back downstairs in my nice DRY clothes and had cookies and recapped the competition with my family and our friends. I went to bed that night very happy. We'd won E.R.I.! This was a big step for us. It was an important show, and we'd come through. If we kept up the intensity, we might be on our way to finals in two weeks. 


	10. The Last Stretches

Our instructors have always told us that "the way you rehearse is the way you perform." So that week we attempted to set a good tone by our rehearsal technique. We started our Tuesday night practice by running a mile and doing some basics. Then we spent the rest of the night running large chunks. At the end of rehearsal we did two runs, and the fun part was that the second was more energized than the first. That was probably due in part to Mr. Wilson yelling right before we began our second run, "Valley Christian, you may take the field...take the field...TAKE IT!...in competition!"  
  
That Thursday was an extremely long day. I spent a lot of the morning at the Fairmont Hotel downtown with ensemble, singing at a prayer breakfast. By the time I got to school, I was exhausted. But of course it was a band night. The rehearsal didn't go quite as well as any of us had hoped. Our instructors yelled a lot, and at the very end of rehearsal, our star mallet player, Mike, suddenly got very sick. It was pretty scary. So Laura and I helped bring pit equipment down, which was an experience.  
  
The next day Laura went home with me because we were playing for a football game that night. Somehow we got onto the subject of band, and I happened to mention that I was ready for the season to be over. Of course, being the obsessive band member that she is, Laura jumped on that. "Don't say that," she said. "If you enjoy it, you won't wish for it to be over. Think of all the seniors," she added. "It's their last year. You should support them and enjoy it for them."  
  
Just a few hours later, we were back at City College for the game. It was a Bellarmine home game, so all the Bellarmine fans were frontfield and none of us knew which way to face. The fact that there were only college hashes wasn't so exciting either. Neither was the fact that it had just been raining. But we went on anyway. As we marched onto the field, the Bellarmine pep band was up in the stands playing. All band people know that that's generally a really rude thing to do, so we were all getting pretty ticked. Now with some bands, getting mad makes them mess up. But not our band. When we get mad, we get adrenaline and we do great. So as soon as we turned backfield to our fans and played our first note of the show, everyone sitting frontfield shut right up. And it turned out to be one of our best shows. Ladies and gentlemen, don't mess with the band.  
  
As Laura and I left that night, I thought about what we'd talked about. After our halftime performance, I think I'd proved to myself that I was into this.  
  
Our show at Logan was the next day. We rehearsed in the morning as usual, then loaded buses and trailer and headed to Union City. Our show was pretty good technically, but not very exciting emotionally. We ended up getting 1st place with a score of 89.23. The school we lost to was Hart, a band from southern California. They swept all the captions with a score of 90.25. We watched their show from backfield, and I thought they deserved to win. We did beat Live Oak by about a point and a half, which was good. It put us in a good position, because we learned that we were not invincible, yet we didn't get creamed. But we all knew our instructors were going to go absolutely insane on us the next week in preparation for championships the next weekend.  
  
Laura and I also managed to get Matt very mad at us. During our double file back to the trailer after performing, we went to a different pistol position for our own convenience. Laura had apparently asked Matt about it before and he said it was fine, but then he decided it wasn't fine and was angry.  
  
On Monday in band class we didn't play. We spent a lot of time talking about our show, and then Mr. Gunter said, "I want to do something right now. We're going to listen to the original recording of the Gloria, and I just want you to listen. Listen for technical stuff, but also listen to the emotion of the song." With that he turned off the lights and turned on the CD, and I closed my eyes and sat back. For the next 18 or so minutes I was entranced in the music. I'd heard it so many times before, but this time it was like I was hearing it for the first time ever. I heard so many things I'd never heard before, and the very message of it touched my heart.  
  
Tuesday we had night rehearsal. It was just draining. Between school and band Caitlyn came up to Laura and me. "We had a section leader meeting today," she said, "and Matt said something about you guys and a different pistol position...?"  
  
Laura groaned and I said, "Yes, that's true, but we worked it out with him last week, so we thought it was okay."  
  
Caitlyn nodded. "You might want to talk to him, just to be sure," she said.  
  
At dinner we discussed it and decided we didn't like the fact the Matt had brought up the problem in the section leader meeting before talking to us. So before practice we went up to Mr. Gunter to talk to him about it. Why we didn't just talk to Matt, I don't know, but that's what happened. We told him what was going on, and he got this look on his face that said, "Why is this a big deal?" But he responded patiently. "Have you talked to Matt about it yet?"  
  
"We were going to at the end of practice," I said, since Laura looked close to tears.  
  
Mr. Gunter blinked. "It's something between you and your section leader," he said. "There's nothing I can do about it. It's true that he should have talked to you first, but it's between you three. And I really don't want to have a problem before champs, so please, I beg you, work it out."  
  
After this not-so-encouraging talk, we headed up to the field in time for running. Hooray. I don't remember what we did that night at practice, but afterward Matt called both of us over. He told us his side, and I tried to be respectful while discussing it with him. I explained to him the necessity of this different position, and he shrugged. "I just don't think it looks very clean," he said. "And since you're in the trombone section, I'm gonna want you to do the trombone pistol position."  
  
I agreed to that and left rehearsal calmly. I didn't see the need for making a huge deal out of it. Laura, however, was really angry. When I talked to her online later that night, she was all for going and talking to Gunter about it as soon as championships were over. I warned her not to make it a bigger deal than it already was. I also didn't want to get involved in such a trivial debate. Mr. Gunter had been right: we had bigger things to worry about this week.  
  
Thursday night was our Parents' Night performance. Every year, the last rehearsal before champs is always reserved for a special performance for family and friends. We began the night with rehearsal, and after about an hour we got into uniform as our family and friends trickled into the stadium. At the beginning Mr. Gunter got on the mic and did a little presentation of the seniors and had them all go give their parents flowers... a Parents' Night tradition. It was weird to think that next year, that would be me.  
  
Finally we began our run. I had been tired up until we marched onto the field double file, and then I suddenly got a burst of energy. Knowing I would need it, I managed to bottle it up for our runthrough. It was a good thing I did, because it was a great run. I was just running out of that energy until, between the ballad and the closer, I spotted Dave, a friend who had graduated the year before, climbing the stadium stairs. I grinned to myself, and that gave me enough adrenaline to get through the closer well.  
  
As soon as we hit our last set, horn manual, note, and cutoff, Caitlyn saluted to the cheering parents and Mr. Gunter called, "Parade rest!" We went to parade rest, and our fans continued to scream. "Another one! Another one!" they shouted. Mr. Gunter came on the mic. "Band, get set for another run!"  
  
We ran back to the end zone. Actually, I skipped back. I had an even bigger burst of energy than for the last run, and the second was even more solid than the first. Afterward we loaded the trailer and headed home.  
  
We were scheduled to leave for Fresno the next evening. Judging from our performances that night, we were ready. Judging from the rest of our season, we were definitely ready. It was almost too good to be true. But now we had one show left, hopefully two (prelims and finals). Would we pull through? All 80 of us could only hope and pray that all our hard work would pay off on Saturday. 


	11. Prelims

The next night we met back at school at 5:00 with all our luggage. We loaded everything onto the buses and left. During the three-hour drive to Fresno we watched the first half of "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets". Laura and I also laughed to ourselves at the attempts of Megan the freshman guard girl to flirt with Nic.  
  
We stopped somewhere along the way for dinner. My group went to McDonald's and then across the street to Starbucks. We left Starbucks with about a minute till we had to be back on the buses, so we sprinted to the crosswalk and made it just as the hand began to flash.  
  
We got to the hotel around 9:30 and hung out for a while until bedtime. Laura and I were rooming with Brittany and Shelby again, so since they were taping rooms, we stood in the doorway of our room and laughed at all the people who were late to their rooms.  
  
The next morning we got up, showered, ate breakfast downstairs in the VERY tiny dining room, and then loaded everything back onto the buses, since we were going home after champs were over. We managed to find a practice field and got in a solid two-hour rehearsal. It began with a "good morning lap" around the track. I swear, our instructors are delusional. Then we worked hard for a couple hours on large chunks and just solidifying everything. It was all good except for one rather violent run of the opener. We had these spins in the second and fourth sets, and Alex almost nailed me with his slide on one of those. Then in another set the guard wove through the low brass, who were backstriding. Kayla, a guard girl, brought her saber down right on my bell, causing my mouthpiece to fly up and hit me in the nose. Yeah, ouch. But overall, good rehearsal.  
  
At noon we had lunch—pizza and coke in honor of Mr. Wilson's beloved analogy. As soon as we were done with lunch, we got back on our faithful buses and headed over to Clovis High School, where AA prelims and finals were being held. We changed into uniform and then found an empty parking lot to warm up. After basics, we moved to the lawn area and did a warm-up arc with the pit. We were playing our way through our show with a ton of energy. It was so exciting. Everyone was into the music and it sounded great. When we reached the huge impact in the closer, Mr. Wilson suddenly cut us off. "You guys have more in you?" he asked.  
  
"YES!!" we all screamed.  
  
"Good," he responded. "Give it to me on the field."  
  
So we did. We got out on the field and performed. It was hands down our best performance ever. A common problem that a lot of bands had was the lack of focus during a daytime show. But that wasn't a problem for us, since a lot of our shows had been during the daylight hours. As we came off the field, I think we were all grinning. We gathered around Mr. Gunter and Mr. Wilson. "How'd you guys feel about that?" Wilson asked.  
  
We all cheered. "I agree," said Mr. Gunter. "I think that was an awesome run. Very solid, very clean. You guys worked for that one. That will definitely get us to finals."  
  
On that note, we headed over to have our picture taken, like every year after prelims. I've never understood why they do that, because everyone is all sweaty and gross after marching. But they did. We went back to the trailer and changed. While we were getting out of uniform, Mrs. Wiens came running up. "The scores are being posted as they go," she said. "I just checked, and you guys got a 91."  
  
Well, this was of course unbelievable news. Valley Christian had never broken 90 before. And we were the sixth band from the end, so that would be hard to beat.  
  
We double-filed back to the stadium to sit for awards. Once situated in the bleachers, we watched the procession of drum majors and guard captains, cheering when we saw Caitlyn, Jenny, and Krysta enter the field. The drum majors and captains from each of the 30 AA bands formed a huge arc on the field. And the awards began.  
  
The announcer listed off all the bottom-end placements first. The top 13 bands would make finals.  
  
"5th place...Aliso Niguel!"  
  
"4th place...Live Oak!"  
  
"3rd place...Bullard!"  
  
"2nd place, with the caption for auxiliary, and a score of 86.92...Arroyo Grande!"  
  
"And in 1st place, with the captions for general effect, music, visual, and percussion, with a score of 91.43...Valley Christian!"  
  
Even though we more or less knew this placement because of our score, we all cheered excitedly anyway. We watched as Caitlyn, Jenny, and Krysta accepted our trophies, and then headed out of the stadium and back to our trailer.  
  
When we got back, everyone gathered around Mr. Gunter, who announced, "You guys earned this," and unrolled a banner. We all craned our necks to read, "Western Band Association, Class AA Champions, 2003." And we all cheered crazily again.  
  
But the day was not over. 


	12. Finals and the End

After celebrating our victory in prelims, we got some down time to just relax and hang out. Some of the guys went to a more open area to throw Frisbees and footballs around, and the Boosters gave us a snack of grapes, cheese, and crackers (and of course the ever-wonderful water and lemonade). I spent some time at the Los Gatos trailer next door talking to Cassie, one of my friends from church who was in the Los Gatos band. They had been 15th in prelims, barely missing the cutoff for finals. I was disappointed that they wouldn't be staying. We talked for about 45 minutes and then I wandered back over to Valley land.  
  
At some point in the afternoon I took a bathroom trip with Laura and Brittany. While we were standing in line, a few girls from Bullard (who placed 3rd in prelims) were in there talking. They apparently didn't notice that we were from Valley, because they started talking about how the two bands in front of them hadn't been very good.  
  
"I thought our music was way better," said one.  
  
"Yeah," another agreed. "And their general effect? Not so general effective."  
  
The third girl was silent. She looked at the three of us in our VC jackets and Gloria T-shirts and nudged her friends. When they looked over at us, they shut up fast.  
  
Back at the trailer we were fed dinner, which my friends and I ate inside the trailer. It was starting to get quite cold. I was smart and had brought my blanket, so we all huddled under it until Mr. Gunter claimed us at 6:00.  
  
We walked over to the small parking lot where we had warmed up earlier and circled up. "Look around," said Mr. Wilson. I looked around the circle at the people who'd been my family for the last four months and realized that we only had one more show as a team.  
  
"The people you see in this circle are your teammates," Mr. Wilson continued, echoing my thoughts. "Without every single person, the circle is incomplete." He then asked the seniors to step inside the circle. "Now there are holes," he said. "When these seniors leave, those holes will be filled by freshmen, and there will be a new team."  
  
The next half hour or so was spent saying goodbye to the seniors. They walked around the circle and gave each of us hugs. I was crying, and so were a few other people. I knew next year would be a challenge. Many of our seniors were extremely talented, and there would definitely be holes when they were gone.  
  
But soon enough we had to put aside all the emotions and head back to the trailer. We got into uniform once again. This time it was brutally cold. I pulled on thermal pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt over my normal whites. The Boosters gave us little hand warmers, which we stuck in our gloves. Then we headed back to the parking lot, this time to warm up.  
  
I found the sound guys and went over to get wired with the body mic. It was a pain to have to strip off the jacket and the top of my overall pants when it was so cold. And when they tested it, all they got were pops and crackles, so I kept having to take my jacket off to have them fix it.  
  
That took about an entire runthrough. By the time I got into the arc, they were midway through the closer. But I'd been listening, and it sounded REALLY good. All of a sudden I got a quick burst of adrenaline. I was excited. For once we actually had a decent chance at championships.  
  
"This is your last chance," Mr. Wilson told us after the runthrough as we stood at attention. "What are you going to do with it?"  
  
We double-filed over to the stadium. I secretly left the hand warmer inside my glove, since it was warmer to hold the cold horn that way. Jason and the other instructors walked around reminding us to constantly blow warm air through the horns. We marched onto the back sideline and heard the announcer. "Now entering the field, from San Jose, California, Valley Christian!"  
  
Parents cheered, and the announcer listed off previous awards and the names of our staff members as we took our places on the field for the last time. I turned backfield, kept the air going through my instrument, and waited for the call to dress center.  
  
It didn't come. Instead we heard Wilson's voice telling us to turn around frontfield. We turned around, wondering what was going on.  
  
"The sound cart is not working," he said. "So we will have no mics on you tonight. But it's okay. You guys can overcome this."  
  
That made me nervous. Microphones could be the difference in a score.  
  
"Dress center dress!" Caitlyn called from the podium. She usually began the show singing a solo from the 50, but since there was no sound she would start on the podium in order to be heard.  
  
We snapped to dress center as one. It was easily the cleanest dress center I'd ever done.  
  
"Are the judges ready?" we heard. And then, "Drum major Caitlyn Christie, is your band ready?"  
  
"Ready front!" Head snap, horn snap. Caitlyn saluted and the crowd cheered.  
  
"Valley Christian, you may take the field in Class A/AA finals competition."  
  
I stood with my horn at pistol until I heard the pit entrance to start the show. Six counts later, I stepped off in slow motion. I listened to Caitlyn's beautiful voice over the pit. Before I knew it, we were in the first block. Here we go.  
  
I turned around, my horn coming up to my lips. I blew into the cold metal as I stepped off, and Gloria began.  
  
Our diagonals in the block were covered down very well. As we pulled out of the first move we spun for six counts and then stepped off the other direction. Our block was now square again. We spun again, and then our lines shifted back and forth as we played that glorious music.  
  
At a halt I began to build musically to our first impact. As we hit the impact, all our horns flew up to the box as one. I loved the flash of metal as we all moved together.  
  
Then we stepped off again. As we played the main melody, I sang the words in my head. "Gloria in excelsis Deo." Glory to God in the highest. That's what we were doing. We were glorifying God by doing what we did best. The melody echoed and then there was a woodwind interlude. "Et in terra pax hominibus bonae voluntatis." And on earth peace, goodwill towards men.  
  
The brass re-entered strongly and we stepped off again to section pods for the "sixes" moves, as we liked to call them. It was a series of moves in section blocks scattered all over the field. The music was a fugue that began with the trombones, then jumped to the trumpets and woodwinds. "Gloria in excelsis..."  
  
Coming out of the sixes, the sections meshed together in a strong melody. "Gloria! Gloria! In...ex...cel...sis...De...o!"  
  
Toward the end of that phrase we formed one long company front on the front hash, and on the last note we marched forward as a unit, with our horns up to the box. It was an awesome moment.  
  
After six counts the horns came back down and an arc took shape out of our one long line. Suddenly we halted, played our last four notes, and our horns snapped down.  
  
I breathed hard, trying to control it as the crowd cheered. The opener was over and we were heading into the ballad. I took deep breaths, trying to keep my shoulders still, so I would have enough breath for singing.  
  
The pit played an interlude and we moved slowly into a block. We halted and drew our horns up to our lips, then up to the box...and then down to our sides. Our block condensed, and as we halted we began to sing.  
  
"Domine Deus, Agnus Dei. Domine Deus, Filius Patris. Domine Deus, Domine Deus..." Lord God, Lamb of God. Lord God, Son of the Father. It was like a cry of worship. I only hoped it could be heard without mics.  
  
Our voices built up to the last phrase, then there was silence. Then a brass quintet began to play on the 35. We turned backfield and did our visual, then formed section pods until the end of the quintet. Then our pods opened up and the trombones entered, repeating the melody. We moved into an opened cross set. This had been our problem set all season, but tonight it worked. We halted there and hit an impact as Caitlyn descended the podium steps and took her place at the foot of the cross. The impact suddenly stopped and there was silence. The cross condensed as Caitlyn lifted her hands to heaven and sang, "Miserere, Miserere nobis." Have mercy upon us. Her voice filled the stadium and there was an awed hush in the stands. She didn't even need a microphone.  
  
When she stopped singing and lowered her arms, the crowd cheered again. She stepped out from in front of the cross and beat out two measures of four, and we stepped off into the drum feature. At the end of it we brought our horns back up and began the closer. This was by far the most exciting movement.  
  
The brass formed an arc backfield and curved it between the 35 yard lines. We finished the intro and headed into the Vegas/Gnome section. It was a trombone feature, and we all had to play way out to be heard from backfield. "Quoniam tu solus sanctus...tu solus Dominus, tu solus altissimus, Jesu Christe." For thou only art holy, thou only art the Lord, thou only, O Christ. As I played the melody and sang the words in my head, I realized that this was the reason I was even playing this. I was playing because God alone is holy and deserves my worship. It was a beautiful thing. In that moment the music was taken to a whole new level for me.  
  
The next move was a difficult move where the low brass almost ran into the bass drums. Tom had to whisper loudly, "Go! Go!" at the rest of the bass drums so they wouldn't get in the way of our long stride. But tonight it seemed like they weren't even there. We had no problems.  
  
We continued on. The theme repeated and then the intensity began to build as we entered a new section. It began with the pit, then flutes and clarinets, then trumpets and mellophones, and finally low brass and reeds. "Cum Sancto Spiritu, in gloria Dei Patris. Amen, amen, amen." With the Holy Ghost, thou art most high in the glory of God the Father. Amen. The moves were all large stride, 18-count moves. Tonight they were miraculously dressed.  
  
When the trombones re-entered we only played a few notes before a crescendo and then a sudden halt and cutoff. My chest heaved as I tried for four counts of silence to control my breathing and take a huge gulp of air as we hit the biggest impact of our show.  
  
Caitlyn's hands came crashing down as the field exploded with sound. I was almost lightheaded from putting so much air through my baritone and taking huge breaths throughout the phrase. It was the main melody from the opener, "Gloria in excelsis Deo," only a lot slower and more dramatic. It had to be my absolute favorite part of the show, just for the intensity and emotion it held.  
  
The 24-count impact ended with a sudden drop to piano. By this time I was frontfield on the 50, and my section of the arc backstrided into a smaller spiral. We did a crescendo and an accelerando, and then there was a very evil move. The trombones played a descending run with a bunch of random notes while weaving through a trumpet and mellophone line. I usually had to swerve all over the place to get through Sandra and Sarah alive, but not tonight. I simply marched right to my place on the 50, halted for three, and then stepped off in a left slide on another impact, the same note of the company front in the opener. We were almost done...only a few more sets to go.  
  
As that impact ended, we formed a block, condensed it, and rotated it. We built into our final set—a cross centered on the 50—as our music escalated to a dramatic crash and our horns flew up to the box. Then all of a sudden Caitlyn's hands came snapping down, and so did our horns. We stood there panting hard as the crowd went crazy. I loved hearing the sound of the applause and cheers when we'd finished a show.  
  
Caitlyn saluted, then called, "Mark time hut!" and we marched off the field to Drew's tap. I reflected on our show. It had been very good technically, but we hadn't had the emotion we normally had. It had been sort of emotionally flat overall. That was a little disappointing.  
  
Once outside the stadium and in the little open field right next to it, Mr. Gunter called us in. "Great job," he told us. "I'm very pleased with that performance. I think you guys rose to the challenge of no sound cart very well. So well done. We will double file into the end zone as soon as Live Oak is done, and we will stand at parade rest for awards."  
  
We got in double file and waited for Live Oak to perform. Nic, who was standing behind me, muttered, "That was bad."  
  
I turned around. "I agree," I said. "I think it was good technically, but emotionally flat. We weren't all that into it."  
  
"Yeah," said Nic. He shrugged. "Oh well, it's not like we didn't have a good season. And Live Oak probably deserves to win anyway."  
  
As soon as Live Oak finished, we double-filed back to the field and stood in the back portion of the end zone. Laura was in front of me and Nic was next to me. We set down our instruments and set at parade rest.  
  
We stood for about ten minutes before awards started. In that ten minutes, we all nearly froze to death. Here's how cold it was: Normally when I march a show, I'm normal temperature beforehand and hot and sweaty afterward. Tonight I had been freezing beforehand and normal temperature afterward.  
  
The drum majors and guard captains entered the field, and after what seemed like an eternity, the announcer came on. "First, let's give all the bands a hand!"  
  
Then after another eternity, "And in 17th place..."  
  
I groaned to myself. This was going to take forever. I just wanted awards to end so I could go get on the warm bus and curl up under my blanket.  
  
We slowly worked our way up. There was a tie for 10th place between Fremont and Merced.  
  
"In 5th place, with a score of 87.05... Arroyo Grande!"  
  
My toes were numb. I wiggled them inside my shoes. I also adjusted my hand warmers, which I still had in my gloves.  
  
"In 4th place, with a score of 87.35... Live Oak!"  
  
Nic and I exchanged a surprised look. "Wow," he said under his breath.  
  
"In 3rd place, with a score of 87.60... Aliso Niguel!"  
  
I breathed a nervous sigh. My breath formed a cloud in front of my face. Jason was walking around saying, "Eyes straight ahead no matter what."  
  
"In 2nd place, with a score of 87.90... Bullard!"  
  
My heart began to race. In my mind I ran through all the bands who hadn't been named. We hadn't, of course... but who else was left? I tried to think of who else was there.  
  
"And now for the caption awards. Receiving the caption for best auxiliary... Arroyo Grande!"  
  
I watched as the drum major and captains from Arroyo Grande stepped forward to receive their trophies. And then we heard,  
  
"And receiving captions for best percussion, best music, best visual, and best general effect, in 1st place with a score of 92.15, and your champions... Valley Christian!"  
  
I think there were some parents cheering wildly in the stands, but I didn't hear them. All I heard was those words echoing in my head. "And your champions, Valley Christian!"  
  
I saw people around me look ready to explode with excitement. My eyes welled up with tears of joy as I whispered a prayer of thanks to God.  
  
I vaguely heard the announcer thank everyone for coming, and people began to pour out of the stadium. Other bands passing us on the way out congratulated us. We didn't move or acknowledge them, but the radiant expressions on our faces showed our thanks.  
  
Amidst the crowds leaving I saw Caitlyn, Jenny, and Krysta walking back carrying the five hugest trophies I'd ever seen, plus a second banner. Mr. Gunter and Mr. Wilson followed, each holding a small bag. "We have some unfinished business," said Mr. Wilson, smiling. They ripped open the bags and walked around hanging a medal around each of our necks.  
  
By this time I was actually crying out of joy, excitement, and pride. When Mr. Wilson got to me he placed the medal around my neck, grinned at me, and said, "Congratulations, champ." He gave me props like he'd done to us all season, and then moved on to Nic. "Got another year in you?" he asked him.  
  
"Oh yeah," Nic replied enthusiastically.  
  
Once everyone had a medal, we gathered around our instructors. By this time we were the only people left in the stadium. "No one's watching you now," said Mr. Wilson. "How do you feel?"  
  
How do you think we felt? We screamed louder than I ever thought it was possible to scream. Once we were quiet again, Mr. Wilson continued. "Remember that first night when I told you guys you had a reputation? You just made a reputation for yourselves tonight."  
  
He turned it over to Mr. Gunter. "You did it," Gunter said. "I'm so proud of you guys." He looked around at our smiling (and some tearful) faces and said, "I think the first thing we need to do is thank our Lord." We bowed our heads in prayer, and Mr. Gunter thanked God for giving us the strength and perseverance to have a successful season.  
  
When he was done praying he said, "Well, let's get back to the trailer and get home." We broke out of our huddle and got into double file. I was still crying, and so were some other people. Nic laughed when he saw me crying and wiped a tear off my face with his thumb.  
  
On our way back to the trailer I couldn't help but grin. People we passed called out, "Congratulations, Valley Christian!" All the parents cheered as we marched up to the trailer. We gathered around Caitlyn to do our chant for the final time.  
  
"How are your heels?" she yelled.  
  
"Together!"  
  
"Stomachs?"  
  
"In!"  
  
"Chest?"  
  
"Out!"  
  
"Shoulders?"  
  
"Back!"  
  
"Elbows?"  
  
"Frozen!"  
  
"Chins?"  
  
"Up!"  
  
"Eyes?"  
  
"With pride!"  
  
"Eyes??"  
  
"With pride!!"  
  
"How are your EYES???"  
  
"WITH PRIDE!" we screamed as one.  
  
And with that we changed, loaded, and headed for home. On the bus everyone was totally excited. No one slept, even though it was midnight. We were all so full of joy and happiness that we couldn't do anything but relive the night with our friends.  
  
When the buses pulled up into the school parking lot at 2:00 AM, parents were there waiting. I was on the second bus, and when I hopped off and said goodbye to my friends and hello to my dad, he said, "So what happened? I saw the first three rows of the other bus full of trophies, and everyone has medals." I told him, and he was really excited. "That's great!" he said. "Congratulations!"  
  
Congratulations. For the next three days I heard that word a lot. People who had never cared about the band before were congratulating us, especially on Monday when we all wore our medals to school and there was an announcement in the daily bulletin. But what mattered most to me was what we had accomplished, and what I had proved to myself.  
  
In my mind, it was all worth it. The words "your champions, Valley Christian!" were worth every drop of sweat on my body. Every lap around the track was worth it. Every wrong note while learning to play baritone was worth it. Every sore muscle was worth it. Every minute of wearing that stupid body mic was worth it. Every hour of lost sleep was worth it. I will never forget those words.  
  
Valley Christian, Small Band State Champions.  
  
THE END 


End file.
